


All the Stars Align

by Moriartied



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternative Sexuality, It's less sad than the summary makes it sound, M/M, Relationship(s), Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3215426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriartied/pseuds/Moriartied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone thinks Harry and Louis are dating, but they aren't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Stars Align

Louis sits hunched on the floor of his living room, arms wrapped around a pillow, phone in his hand. Zayn is on a beanbag nearby, Liam on the couch, and Harry and Niall are in the kitchen making lunch, though it sounds more like World War III has managed to erupt. Liam looks like he wants to be concerned but just can't summon the fucks to give, and Zayn is just staring at the TV, but clearly not watching it because it has somehow been turned to the home shopping network and an overly done up fifty year old is demonstrating salad tongs.

Neither of them are paying attention to Louis either, who has stopped scrolling through his phone and gotten up, trudging towards his bedroom with no trace of his usual exuberance or playfulness. His absence isn't noticed until Harry comes back into the room with a tray of sandwiches, frowning. "Where's Lou?"

Zayn shrugs, reaching up for an egg salad, and Liam suddenly looks horrified, having managed to lose track of one of his ducklings. "Bedroom?" he suggests, already reaching up to relieve Harry of the tray, knowing the boy will be bolting away as soon as he knows where his b--where Louis is.

Louis isn't in his bedroom. But Harry doesn't have to search long to find him in the bathroom, leaning with both arms on the sink counter and his head hanging down. He hesitates in the doorway for a moment before walking forward, slipping his arms around the smaller boy's waist and resting his chin on his shoulder.

"Tell me what's wrong." If he doesn't phrase it as a command he will never get anything out of Louis. Louis is a little shit like that. But Harry doesn't care. Over the four years they've been in a band together, he has long since learned all of Louis Tomlinson's quirks. And there are many. Like how he hates listening to their music or how his breath grows ragged when Harry runs his hands through his hair.

Louis bites his lip, not looking up but not pulling away. He motions vaguely towards his phone. "The only people that like me are the ones who think I'm dating you," he mumbles, voice thick.

Harry's chest clenches. This isn't completely new--Louis being more affected than the rest of them about what the tabloids said or what the fans commented on the internet--but this particular sentiment is unprecedented. Harry nuzzles his face into the back of Louis' neck. "That's not true."

Louis scoffs. "It is," he retorts, and Harry thinks he is going to end there, but apparently he has more explanation. Harry is scared to hear it. He doesn't know what ideas Louis has concocted now, what new level of self-deprecation they are going to reach, or how much longer his soothing words will be able to bring Louis back down from that harmful headspace. "Everyone loves you, Haz. You're the media darling. And Zayn's dark and mysterious. And Niall is that adorable dork that everyone wants to have at parties. Hell even Liam's got his own fanbase. I've just got the goddamn shippers, and I'm pretty sure none of them actually like _me_ , just me as an extension of you." He grits his teeth, finally looking up and meeting Harry's eyes in the mirror. "And we're not even fucking dating."

Harry bites back the 'we could be' that rises unbidden to the tip of his tongue. Not helpful. Instead he rubs his hand down the middle of Louis' back, between his too tense shoulders. "People like you," he says. "Everyone loves your solos on the new album. They love No Control..." He could go on, but he doesn't think it would make much difference, if the angry creases in Louis' brow are any indicator.

Louis picks up his phone, handing it to Harry. It's open to a tumblr tag, a bunch of fangirls squealing about the new songs, and, as he reads closer, apparently psychoanalyzing them.

"They like it because they think _I_ wrote it about _you_ ," Louis glares bitterly. Harry sets the phone down, feeling like he's been punched in the gut. He drops his head down, resting his forehead against Louis' shoulder. He tries to work his hand up through the boy's soft chestnut locks, but Louis shakes him off.

Harry doesn't know what to do. This doesn't feel like the other times. Louis is always self-conscious about something--his hair, his clothes, his height, his build--and Harry is always there to tell him he's fine. He's perfect the way he is, and he shouldn't listen to what teenagers say online. But Harry doesn't know what it's like really, to constantly bear the brunt of the criticism towards the band. And he does realize that it's not all in Louis' head, that the fans really are disproportionately cruel to him. Sometimes Harry just wants to stand up in an interview and tell the whole world to just back the fuck off. That Louis is amazing and talented and beautiful and they can all go choke on a dick. But he has an idea of just how well that would go over with management, and he'd rather not risk the ramifications. Plus, Louis isn't his to defend like that.

Harry keeps rubbing Louis' back while he tries to come up with something to say to fix this. But Louis takes his silence as confirmation of his last statement and wrenches away, fleeing to the bedroom. It's quiet in the living room and Harry wonders if the other boys have left or if they're just being respectful. He knows what they're all probably thinking. Knows that they, like the rest of the world, are convinced that he and Louis are together. Sometimes Harry gets frustrated trying to figure out why Louis has let this belief go on for so long if he's so adamantly not truly interested in Harry. But he's never going to say anything to Louis, lest he fuck this up and lose the relationship that they do have. Because Harry lives for those moments. Lives for the times when Louis cuddles up next to him on a couch, or leans into his shoulder on stage. He lives for the hugs and the lazy smiles and the way Louis opens up to him unlike anyone else. He wouldn't say he's _pining_ but let's call a spade a spade, Harry Styles is in love with Louis Tomlinson.

When he finally goes back out into Louis' bedroom, he sees the boy sitting on the bed, knees pulled up to his chest, chin resting on top of them, looking up at Harry with arched brows, like he was wondering what took him so long. Taking it as permission, Harry crawls up onto the bed next to him, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. "Plenty of people like you for _you_ , Lou," he says, pressing his cheek into the side of Louis' head, nose filling with that torturous scent of Louis' floral shampoo.

Louis shakes his head. Words are nice, but they don't hold a candle to the endless wealth of hate constantly streaming towards him from every outlet. He leans into Harry though, and closes his eyes.

Times like this, Harry feels like his heart is going to rip free from his chest. Four years. Four years he's been in love with this impossible boy. There are two Louis, really. The flamboyant prankster who's always creating havoc while selflessly working to keep everyone's morale high on tour or in the studio, and then there's this sensitive Louis, who is darker, sadder than Harry could have thought possible, who gets overwhelmed by his own anxieties, who craves approval more than anything else. What really hurts Harry is that he knows he'll never be enough, that he'll never fully be able to fix Louis, to take away his pain, because Louis doesn't want him like that. And it's okay, really, Harry's come to terms with it, but it just kills him to see Louis in pain and not be able to do anything.

Louis eventually falls asleep, limbs wrapped koala-like around Harry so he couldn't move even if he wanted to. Liam knocks on the door to let him know they're leaving, and Louis doesn't stir as Harry calls back an apology, promising they'll take a rain check on the FIFA tournament they were supposed to have today. Everyone understands when Louis gets in one of his moods. They don't say anything about it, but they don't pry either. They know when to just leave him alone with Harry, though Harry himself isn't quite sure he's qualified for this responsibility.

Sometime during the late afternoon, Harry drifts off as well, having managed to get a blanket up over them and adjusted Louis arms so he wasn't cutting off his circulation. He awakes an hour or two later to an empty bed and groggily registers his confusion.

"Lou?" He calls out.

He hears sounds in the apartment and then Louis hollers back. "In the kitchen. Making brownies. Want some?"

Sometimes Harry thinks he's going to get whiplash from Louis' mood changes. He pushes himself up from the bed, dragging a hand slowly through his slightly too long hair. He thinks maybe he should cut it, but Louis has taken to twirling the locks around his fingers when they're cuddling, and Harry, masochist that he is, wants to keep that trend around.

The minute he opens the door he can smell the brownies. He goes into the kitchen and hoists himself up onto the counter, leaning back to watch Louis bend over the oven, sticking a toothpick into the brown batter to see if it's cooked. Unsatisfied, he closes the oven door and stands up, wiping his hands on his _apron_ like he's freaking Betty Crocker. Harry chews the inside of his lip.

"Feeling better?" he asks hesitantly, worried he's going to break the spell and send Louis spiraling backwards. But Louis just shrugs, leaning against the opposite counter facing Harry.

"Was just tired, I think," he says. Louis always tries to excuse his breakdowns with exhaustion or stress or alcohol, even when Harry knows he hadn't had a drop. But Harry plays along, because that's what you have to do with Louis.

"Glad you slept then," Harry replies, mostly just to keep the conversation going.

Louis kicks his foot out to rub Harry's ankle. "I'm okay, promise," he says. Harry just stares at their feet, brow furrowed. He doesn't think he'll ever understand Louis. Sometimes he thinks the boy knows exactly what he's doing, and makes calculated attempts to torture Harry. But he's pretty sure Louis is just legitimately oblivious as to the effects of his actions. Harry digs his nails into his palms. He's wearing loose track pants right now, and certain unwanted occurrences would be so very obvious, that even Louis wouldn't be able to miss them. He has to fight hard against the urge to reach out and pull Louis close by the apron strings, stare into those endless blue pools, press his lips to--

No. He can't let those kind of thoughts into his mind. Not if he wants to continue his friendship with the most amazing boy on the planet.

_They almost kissed once. It was during their first tour. Harry was seventeen, and had only kissed one person, a girl named Emma who shoved him into a football net during PE class in middle school. He had panicked, eyes flying wide open, no idea what to do with his hands, and was incredibly relieved when she turned away, flashing a smile to her friends. "See, I told you he's not gay." Looking back on it, Harry is very aware of the irony. So he'd never really kissed anyone, and Louis was laying across his lap on the bus, looking up at him with what he could only describe as heart eyes, and those pouty lips and Harry couldn't help it. Before he had a moment to think about what he was doing, he was leaning down, face hovering just centimeters above Louis'. He swiped his tongue along his lower lip, ready to close the distance between them, when suddenly he was on his ass on the floor. He groaned, looking up at Louis in confusion._

_"What the hell was that for?" he asked, rubbing his ass, which was definitely going to have a bruise._

_"What the hell was_ that _?" Louis retorted. He was sitting up on the couch now, arms around his chest, annoyance etched into the lines of his face._

_"I tho--I thought we were--I thought you wanted--" Harry stammered, wondering how he could have misread the signs so badly. He felt embarrassed heat creeping into his cheeks and inched away from Louis. "'M sorry. I shouldn't have."_

_Louis let out a slow breath through his nose, raising one hand to rub his temple. "My fault. Should have stopped you sooner," he muttered, almost to himself. Harry thought he was going to die of mortification, but thankfully the bus pulled into a rest stop and they all got out to get McDonalds. Harry latched onto Liam when they went into the restaurant and managed to secure himself an invitation to play Nintendo when they got back on the bus, to save him from the awkwardness of having to be in a room alone with Louis._

_Harry avoided Louis like the plague for the next week. The only time they interacted was on stage, which was always a show anyway, so it was easy to pretend like nothing was wrong. At the end of the Midwestern America leg of their tour, they had a few days off, and stayed in a hotel in Chicago. Though they usually split up into two rooms, Louis and Harry in one, the three other boy's in the other, Harry had managed to convince Zayn to switch with him._

_That night, Niall had passed out on the couch, still with a pizza box balanced on his chest, so Liam and Harry had each taken one of the two beds. It was weird. Harry had gotten so used to the sound of Louis' deep even breathing, that Liam's near silence was keeping him awake. He put on his headphones hoping the music would help him, but nothing seemed to work. When the door opened a little later, Harry assumed it was Niall, having woken up on the couch and wanting to sleep somewhere more comfortable. He was confused when he felt the edge of his bed dip down and someone leaned over him._

_Suddenly there were hands on his headphones, gently tugging them off, and then a body was curled up against him, spooning around him even though he was the larger of the two. Louis' arm found his way around Harry's waist and Harry sucked in a breath._

_"Missed you," the beautiful chestnut haired boy purred into his back and Harry felt his stomach seize._

_"What are you do--?"_

_"Shh. Don't talk about it. Don't... Don't do that again, okay? And we'll be good."_

_Harry didn't have to ask what he was talking about. He swallowed the guilt that was rising in his throat and nodded. "Okay," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut to blink back the burning._

It was almost three years ago, but Harry still thinks about it anytime he and Louis get close like that. Which is often, since Louis seems to be pulled to him like a magnet. He still feels like he doesn't have all the pieces, that things just don't add up. Louis is entirely too affectionate with him for it to just be considered a friendship, or even a 'bromance' as the media has so graciously dubbed them. But he's never once tried to kiss Louis again, and he's never brought it up either. He just plays whatever this role is that Louis has assigned to him--keeper, confidante, human pillow, whatever--and shoves his feelings back down into the deep dark corners of his being where they belong.

The timer on the oven dings and the brownies are definitely ready now. Louis turns away from Harry and gets the oven mitts to take out the pan. Harry watches his back, a deep longing ache wedged solidly in his chest. He's not really sure how much more of this he can take. He almost snorts out loud at that lie--he would stay with Louis until the end of time and beyond, whether there was any remote chance for them romantically or not--and pushes himself up off the counter.

"Smells good, Boo," he says, smiling. Kissing may be off limits, but nicknames never have been. Harry takes a little pleasure in the way Louis' shoulders seem to relax as he walks over. Louis reaches for a knife to cut the brownies as Harry stops just behind him, wrapping his arms around Louis' waist. Louis sinks into the embrace, practically melting into Harry. He cuts a corner from the brownie pan and lifts it out, holding it up to Harry's mouth.

"It's hot. Blow on it first," he says. Harry bites back a comment about Louis not being his mother, because he actually kind of likes it when Louis watches out for him like this, and blows on the brownie piece, before leaning in to take a bite. His lips brush against Louis' finger as he does, and it sends a shiver through him. He expects Louis not to notice, but the boy turns sideways in his arms, laughing. "That good?" he asks.

Harry swallows the warm chocolate, nodding. "Amazing, babe," he says, then catches himself. _Most_ nicknames are okay. Trial and error have helped Harry compile a list. 'Babe' is pretty close to the top of the 'no' side. Louis freezes, lowering the hand holding the brownie.

"Sorry," Harry mumbles.

The next minute is tortuously long. Harry thinks Louis is going to snap, yell at him, storm off, _something_. But instead the boy just nods, and goes back to cutting the brownies.

Later, when they're sitting on the couch watching reruns of Saved by the Bell and Harry has almost but not quite forgotten his earlier mistake, Louis turns towards him, snaking his arm around his middle and resting his head on his chest.

"It's not fair," he says simply.

Harry cocks an eyebrow, having no clue what Louis is talking about.

Thankfully Louis continues. "Me. The way I treat you. It's not fair."

Harry looks down and meets a pair of wide, wet, blue eyes staring up at him. "What are you talking about, Lou?" he asks softly.

Louis presses his lips together. "I can't give you what you want, but I can't let you go either."

Harry is more confused now than he's ever been. "I'm going to need some specifics here, Lou," he says, trailing his fingers along Louis' arm.

Louis frowns down for a moment, then takes a breath. "You like me," he says.

"I love you," Harry clarifies softly.

"Yeah, that," Louis bites his lip, and Harry isn't sure whether he should be offended or worried. But Louis goes on. "You love me, and you _want_ me. But I... I can't. I just _can't_."

Harry gets it. Louis' not attracted to him. He's known that all along, really, but somehow it hurts more now that he's saying it out loud.

"I get it," he says. "You don't have to say it. I'll just go." He says and starts to move, but Louis' arm holds him solidly in place.

"No, Haz, you don't understand. At all, actually." He sits up now, turning to face Harry. His eyes are red and there's a sore patch on his lip from where he's bitten it over and over. "I love you, Harry. And I.. I want to want the same things you do but it... I just don't have those kind of feelings. At all. For anyone."

"I don't understand," he says, and he realizes he's echoing Louis, but he really is bewildered.

Louis looks down, sucking in a slightly exasperated breath, like he didn't think he'd actually have to spell it out letter by letter for Harry.

"I want to be with you. I want to be your boyfriend. I want to be HarryandLouis. But I can't do the... the intimate stuff," he looks at Harry, who still hasn't fully grasped it and then rolls his eyes. "I'm asexual. I can't have sex with you."

Harry's eyes widen. Suddenly everything over the last four years makes perfect sense. How they've practically been a couple this entire time, attached at the hip, entirely too close and affectionate to just be friends. Harry knew he hadn't been imagining things between them. It's like the last piece of the puzzle has just fallen into place, leaving everything stunningly clear.

He pulls himself out of his thoughts to realize that Louis is staring at him, concern tugging at his features, like he's worried Harry is going to be disgusted and throw him out. Not trusting himself to speak without his voice cracking, Harry just lunges at Louis, throwing his arms around his neck and crushing him back onto the couch in the tightest embrace he can manage.

He buries his face in Louis' neck, tears brimming in his eyes. "It's never been about the sex, Lou. I mean sure, I wanted it, but I wanted _you_ more. I wanted to be able to call you mine, for us to be _together_."

Louis' hands come up to grip his shoulders, hugging back with a matching intensity. "You mean it?" he asks breathlessly, and Harry nods, tears spilling over, down his cheeks and into Louis' hair. After a few moments of holding each other like that, Louis tilts his head to the side, softly pressing a kiss to Harry's cheek. "How will we explain this to everyone?" he asks quietly.

Harry picks his head up, laughing a little through his tears. "Lou, the entire world already thinks we're together. We don't have to explain anything."


End file.
